It was ideal weather to see the Kea, but certainly not the weather one would have chosen for a long ride on horseback in order to take photographs on an open mountain side.
We were away in good time; and, with my camera protected with sacks, we slowly made our way over the saddle that separated us from the Mathias River. We crossed the summit in the face of a biting wind, and took the track leading down to the river flat. This was steep and
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Natural entrance to a Kea run: The hole goes ten feet into the rock.
slippery, and it was only the surefootedness of the horses that prevented nasty falls. Once down on to the river-bed, we found the air less keen; but the sleet and low hanging clouds made the scene lonely and depressing. “Just the weather,” remarked Mr. Urquhart to me, “for the Keas to kill sheep.” For a long time we rode on, with the river on one side and
